Not the Same
by Bonsoir
Summary: FE13. They can't have everything. They can save the world, and even the lives of their parents, but they will lose them regardless. [Gerome and Lucina talk briefly about the fact that their interference in the past alters the people their parents will become.]


**Title:** Not the Same  
**Characters: **Gerome, Lucina, mention of Chrom and Cherche  
**Genre:** Friendship, Romance  
**Words:** 986  
**Notes: **I know it's been said before, but the kids' interference to change the future also alters the past versions of their parents into something they won't recognize. For Chrom, as Exalt, this could be disastrous. In this short piece, Lucina considers this and speaks to Gerome, since a.) he is her most stalwart companion, and b.) he was the one most against their coming to the past in the first place. My first attempt at this was written in an omniscient third person POV, but it didn't work, so you get limited third in Gerome's POV instead. (Further notes at the bottom of the story posted at Ao3.)

* * *

She sits beside Gerome but doesn't say anything.

The logs in the fire crackle and crash as they burn; she flinches at the shower of sparks even though they don't come close to touching her, even though she's been fighting for her life almost since she was born. It makes her human, he supposes, but he looks down at his hands and pretends not to notice.

When he thinks the silence might be too much for either of them, he speaks: "What is it?"

Lucina has always taken her time in giving answers, and this is no exception. He likes that about her. She loves fiercely but she is not rash; their upbringing has taught her that time to think is a commodity that must be taken advantage of.

That she does not squander it makes her one of the wisest people he knows.

"You don't think we should be here," she tells him, short fingernails drawing meaningless patterns against the hilt of her sword.

"It might be a bad idea."

"I wonder if you are right."

His hand settles on hers for a moment. _Stop it_, he wants to say. _It makes me uneasy to see you nervous_. But instead he says, "Where is your optimism? This is unlike you." He's not sure if he's trying to make a joke or not.

She settles her hands on either side of the makeshift bench they are sitting on. "Well… I have been thinking. My father of this time—"

_Chrom_, he thinks. _Chrom Chrom Chrom._

She shakes her head and begins again. "My father had the chance to learn from his mistakes. He died a strong man. Due to our—_my_—interference, I fear that in this timeline, he will not make the mistakes that would otherwise help him become a strong leader." She lifts her head; her lips are drawn down in a thoughtful frown, but her eyes shine in the firelight. "What if this costs him his life?"

Gerome could say, "I thought the point of being here was to change things." Or, "That is the sacrifice that we are all making, isn't it?"

He knows the primary reason they are all in the past, now, and it isn't to save their future. It is, above all else (because in the end they are all selfish, lonely children), to prevent the deaths of the parents they were forced to part with too young. Even though he calls her Cherche in this time, to lose her would feel like losing his mother twice, so he knows that losing Chrom would cause Lucina immeasurable grief.

"This Chrom must take a different route," he tells her, as gently as he is able.

"Do you believe in fate?" she asks.

"No." How could he think of putting faith in something that had deemed the lives of his parents expendable?

"I don't either," she confides, her voice soft as she takes his hand and just holds it. "But I wish I could, sometimes. Things would be easier, if it was real. If I could believe it was."

"He's alive in this time," he says in a feeble attempt to comfort her.

"He's not the same." Her frown is back, and he wants to smooth the lines away, but he can't; she's still holding his hand.

The part of him that likes to be right wants to say, _I told you it would be so_, but in this, if nothing else, he doesn't want to be right. "He is on a different path, now," he tries, but knows it's not comforting.

His mother was once the Cherche of this time, but the Cherche of this time, due to their interference, will never, ever be his mother—not as he remembers her.

Perhaps the reality of their situation is only now sinking in for Lucina, and he feels pity for her, because it's hard for him to look at Cherche and call her by her name; it's hard to swallow the bitter truth: that even if he waits twenty years, she will not be the same Cherche who died in his time.

"He's alive now," Lucina says, repeating his words from only a moment ago. "It is enough."

"It must be enough," he corrects her. "Despite our sentimental attachment to the people of this time, far more important is preventing the horror that we survived."

_It hurts, I know_, he thinks, _but it must be this way_. They can't have everything. They can save the world, and even the lives of their parents, but they will lose them regardless.

"You're right, of course," she says, sounding ashamed, and lets go of his hand.

He touches her shoulder. "Lucina." He is not quite pleading.

"I know," she whispers. "I am afraid, that's all. What if this was all a big mistake?"

The fire is reduced to glowing coals, and Gerome watches them smolder. "I don't know," he admits. "We have wrought many changes—perhaps for the better. In the end, we are here, now, and we must make the most of it."

"You thought it was a bad idea to come here."

"Yes." The idea of meddling with the past—with time itself—perturbed him, back then. It seemed like such a fool thing to do.

"But you are here."

_For your sake_, he almost tells her like the fool he is. Instead he mumbles out a, "Yes, well," and removes his hand.

She catches it before he can put it in his lap and pulls it back to her, pressing it against the curve of her face.

"Thank you," she tells him, sincerely. "Speaking with you has eased my mind."

Words fail him, as they often do when he most needs them, so he does what he can without them, and that is act. His silent _you're welcome/I love you/please smile again soon_ is a soft kiss against her cheek.


End file.
